


the man in the box

by merrymelody



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymelody/pseuds/merrymelody
Summary: Based on an old prompt for dark_fest at lj - what if Superhoodie was lying about the future to Alisha? Nathan/Simon, with some Alisha/Simon.





	1. the pledge: simon

Nathan is really starting to creep Simon out. 

At his best, he’s someone you have to work to like, not easy to be around or affect. ‘Sure, man’ is about the strongest reaction Simon's garnered outside of life or death situations, but tonight all of a sudden he’s acting...well, weird. Flirtatious, if Simon didn't know better, reminiscent of what he thought was Alisha, that time in the locker room.

He's often taken the piss before, grabbing Simon, touching him, saying stupid shit; but Nathan does the same with everyone else, just looking for a reaction. He's never taken it this far before, especially without witnesses around to laugh along; and he's acting oddly...emotional, clingy even, voice cracking as he babbles about his racing heart rate. If Simon didn’t know better, he’d think Nathan was almost genuine. 

Simon doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but he's not waiting to find out. Either Nathan's gone back on their agreement to be friends, and has found a new way to insult him; or... well, Simon doesn't know. 

But Kelly can read minds. First thing tomorrow at community service, he’s going to ask her for help. 

*

Kelly's reassured him Nathan's winding him up. It's a little insulting how swiftly she assumed that, to be honest; but between Sally and Lucy, he can't deny there's previous form, and he's deeply grateful to her. Not just for saving him from more humiliation, but how defensive she is of him, furious at Nathan. 

Simon assumed her audible bellowing would put an end to the whole thing, he didn't expect an apology; but Nathan looks awkward when he approaches, as Simon fetches his lunchbox from his locker. 

'Hey, man', he offers, visibly trying for his usual casual attitude, and missing it completely, wringing his hands a little, jiggling his leg nervously. 

'Hi', Simon says. 

'Look, last night got a little weird. You left, that's fine, I just...well, you don't have to feel guilty, or avoid me. I know you've been in this morning, I saw you talking to Kelly.'

Simon's brow furrows. This is unexpected. Why would _he_ be feeling guilty? 

Nathan leans in, voice softer. ‘Is this about last night? I'm a big boy, I wanted it. It's not the first time I've been fucked raw. Besides, love hurts!’ 

Simon feels sick suddenly, stomach dropping. Like he's talking to a familiar face, and they just pulled off their head to reveal an alien. Either Nathan's hallucinating, or there's something very strange going on. Like powers strange. 

Simon's horror must show on his face, as Nathan rushes to reassure him. 

‘Hey, it's fine, honest! It was your first time, it's all new. Next time we'll go slower. It was a compliment, really. How much you wanted me.’ 

He moves even closer, vest dipping at the shoulder blades, showing the edging of what looks like a fresh tattoo, bruises on his neck. Simon hates that he's even familiar with Nathan's body, but considering what an exhibitionist he is, he's probably not alone on that one. 

'What's wrong with you?' Simon manages. 'Are you on drugs? I left after you stuck your tongue in my mouth! And what's that on your back?'

Nathan shrugs off the question, still set on his demented claims, rushing words on top of words, sounding desperate, deluded. Simon thinks suddenly that this is probably the longest conversation Nathan's ever initiated with him. 

'Dunno! Look, we don't have to talk about it. Maybe I rushed you. I can wait, if you're not ready for more yet! Or if you’d rather, we’ll pretend it never happened, do things the old fashioned way, go on a date first. I won't tell anyone, if you want to keep it quiet. Might want to delete the vid, though. Kelly's already been nosing around, trying to get in my head. Think she's jealous.' 

Nathan wears a cloying smile, sappy mindless happiness, like he's holding that creepy baby again. 

That's pretty much the limit for Simon, who ducks backwards like Nathan's infectious. He never thought he'd miss Nathan as he normally is, but right now he'd give anything for a 'freak!' or 'odd kid', an ugly face, an obscene gesture. 

'I'll go...talk to her,' Simon offers, trying to resist the urge to run. 

It was the first excuse that came to mind, but actually, Kelly is who he needs to talk to. Kelly and that strange tattoist.

*

Whatever's wrong with Nathan seems to have spread, giving Simon more reason to keep his distance from the others; who for once are the ones seeking his attention. 

Ironic, he's spent months with these people, wanting their friendship, thinking about them, and now they're all friendlier than ever; Curtis and Nathan's jabs the only tension in the unusual calm; and Simon somehow misses the insults.

Alisha’s been oddly chatty too, getting teary-eyed at lunch-time, bringing him a drink. Now this afternoon she's skipped out, storming off after some fight with Curtis that he's obsessing over. 

Kelly's acting as out of it as Nathan has been, and it clearly has something to do with the tattoos on their shoulders. But instead of going to Vince's, confronting him, they're all sprawling on a bench. 

Curtis is tapping on his phone so hard the keys are cracking, Kelly's fiddling with her rings and smiling dreamily, and Nathan is moodily switching between meaningful, hopeful looks at Simon, and sighing pouts. 

The thing that breaks them out of their foggy mood isn't Simon's repeated, increasingly angry pleas; but the appearance of the hooded figure. 

This time, something's different. He holds his hands up as if to reassure them he’s unarmed, and approaches, leaping and jumping from the roof of the nearby block of flats, closer and closer until he’s only feet away, so near they can hear his harsh breathing through the thick mask. 

Simon stares, fascinated, until he notices Kelly and Nathan’s strange expressions. 

Kelly's brows are furrowed, looking confused, as her lips move silently. 

Nathan, meanwhile, looks like nothing so much as a confused dog, as he cranes his neck, head swiveling between Simon and the hooded figure, staring, for a second, at one point getting up, almost drawn over, like he's been hypnotized. Kelly tugs him down by his arm. 

'I can't read his thoughts', Kelly speaks at the same moment as Nathan, who mutters: 'who are you?' under his breath. 

The hooded guy nods once, quickly, before throwing down a bag of peanuts, of all things, and exiting. 

*

Between Curtis's stabbing, Simon's choking, and the awkward revelations following a tattooist spunking on Kelly’s back, Nathan licking Simon’s face, and a failed fingering; it’s understandable that no one is keen to revisit the day’s events. Even Alisha, who seems sharp, considering she missed the whole thing. 

But Simon stews on it later, keen to distract himself, still a little embarrassed.

Kelly couldn't pick up on the masked guy's thoughts, and Nathan was acting weird around him. As weird as he had done around Simon. 

The hooded guy showed himself to Alisha, let her film him, apparently on purpose; and now Alisha's chatting to him, newly nice. Suddenly insistent that they let the masked man do his thing, that they shouldn't discuss it further. 

Nathan's made a similar U-turn, from dismissive, even vengeful at the idea of being followed; to how he was when they saw the hooded man in person – nervous, waving, staring at him. The tattoo was a spell of sorts, but there's no reason it's powers should extend to anyone else - Curtis and Nathan were bickering like always, after all. 

Simon, naively perhaps, has had faith in the guy in the mask, he seems to know everything about them, but so far he hasn't done anything but help them. Now he's beginning to wonder if the others' cynicism was justified. 

*

The hooded figure hasn’t made any appearances since the peanut incident, although if there’s a time when they needed him, it was this week. 

No one can get out of Alisha what happened. 

Simon pressed, to discover where the gunman went to, if the mysterious hooded figure had turned up again; but she snapped at him. 

Now she’s sitting in Shaun’s car, arms around her knees, silent. Kelly tried to approach, but Alisha just turned away. 

Curtis and the teleporting girl from the flat are chatting, heads bent close together. 

Nathan, meanwhile, had been his usual inappropriate self. Easy for him, the only one who was never at risk of permanent harm; but as the smoke begins to curl out of the far end of the warehouse, he stormed off outside for a roll up. 

'Hold onto the dress, it's sexy' he winks as Kelly nicks his lighter, giving him the finger as she heads off to change her clothes. 

But his hands are trembling as he drags on his joint. 

Simon's pissed off, it's lucky none of them were harmed, but no thanks to Nathan, despite all the bullshit he'd been spouting earlier about 'better him than one of you'. In the crunch, it took Simon's glare before his weak admission that he's the undercover cop. 

Waking up from a potential concussion to Nathan's thighs round his head didn't do much to improve Simon's mood, either. 

But stronger than anger is his curiosity. Alisha won't talk. Kelly can't read the hooded man. 

Curtis met him briefly but as he was choking at the time, it's probably not something he wants to discuss, particularly since Simon had frozen, let what he thought was Kelly do those awful things. 

The girls were gone, but even Nathan, impaled, had questioned the brutality, and Simon, the one who wants to help people, use his powers for good, had been paralyzed by his own fear. He shivers. Curtis is out. 

But Nathan's been saved by the hooded man twice, like Alisha, has even spoken to him. Maybe he'll know something, unlikely as it sounds.

'Are you alright?' Simon asks.

'Yeah, fine and dandy.' Nathan inhales. 'I just have this weird little quirk, totally nutty, don't really rate the smell of burning petrol anymore. Maybe it's something to do with my brother's car catching fire, what'd you reckon, smart kid?'

Simon recoils, hands up in an automatic submissive gesture. 

He's pissed off with Nathan, but he doesn't want a row, or even a reaction. Guilt or responsibility would be more than he expected, to be honest, understanding would do, but now’s clearly not the time. 

‘Alisha won't talk about what happened. Do you think that guy in the mask had something to do with all this?'

Nathan replies as if Simon's the stupid one: 'Uh, yeah, I'd take good odds on it.'

'How do you know?'

'I saw his ghost. Back there, after the fire started.' Nathan offers shortly. 

‘He's dead?!’

Nathan just looks at him, and Simon drops his eyes, embarrassed. New questions formulate quickly, though. 'Did he say anything? Take off the mask?'

'Just waved some chain round his neck.'

'Why wouldn't Alisha tell us he was there?'

‘Beats me. We're not really close’, Nathan offers with heavy sarcasm. 

Simon senses they're probably done talking, but as always, can never resist pushing a little further. In that way, he and Nathan probably have something in common. 

Nathan's never met a boundary he didn't push, and Simon wants to be better than that. 

To be a proper friend, a good person, to allow people their space. Privacy. Limits. He does. 

But he also wants to know, know everything. 

What Sally did alone after their date, drinking wine, playing on the laptop, watching tv. How she looked asleep, mouth open slightly, worried expression smoothed out, hugging her pillow, as if she was lonely. 

How Kelly and Alisha smell, how their bodies move as they strip. Kelly shy, back to the room. Alisha fearlessly bold, admiring herself in the mirror. 

What Nathan looks like before he notices the camera, his expressions, gestures, mouth shaping obscenities, always in motion, the beauty of his face such a sharp contrast to his words. 

Simon can feel he'll regret this, that none of them are in the mood to talk about this, to hear it. But he can't stop himself. 

'When he gave us those nuts... The time with the tattoo...' 

Nathan scowls. For all the shit he dishes out, he can't take it at all, and the needling they couldn't resist afterwards aside, there's pretty much been a mutual agreement to drop the subject permanently. 

Simon's more than happy to acquiesce, still a little disturbed at the filthy ravings Nathan came up with, with his own panicked horror. 

He's not that way, he's sure, but there's surely a line between a normal reaction, the kind Curtis constantly bats back at Nathan; and a fear of being touched that way at all. 

The same way he felt when what he thought was Alisha touched him in the locker room. 

Like he's drowning. Like if he responds, he'll drown them. 

Like he's thought about it so long he doesn't even know if he wants it to happen at all, nothing can compare to the daydreams, the fantasies. Certainly not cold reality, a crass 'nosh' in the stark, ugly locker room, an awkward lunge in a drafty hall, neither of them themselves, beautiful and contemptuous. 

He thought he wanted them to see him, to treat him like somebody, but he wonders why when they do, it feels fake without their accompanying disgust and he just feels numb, more invisible than ever. 

'You were...weird around him.'

'Was I? I'd have thought you'd have been more concerned with me trying to suck your cock.' Nathan spits as if it's an insult, and sure enough, Simon gulps. 

He presses on, though. He might not always do what he knows is right, but he's not short on endurance once he's picked a path of action. 

'You were staring at him. And me. Kelly said she couldn't hear his thoughts. I just thought...maybe you noticed something.' He trails off lamely under the heat of Nathan's glare.

'My mind was somewhere else that day, know what I mean?' He grabs his crotch briefly to gesture. 'Probably that power, a tattoo strong enough to make you look fuckable is like, what, twenty roofies? I was so horny I'd have got it up for anyone, standards were not my highest, know what I'm saying?' 

Nathan pauses a beat, before adopting a sardonically solicitious tone. 'No offense. I'm sure you're beating them off even when it's not a power... oh, wait.' He puts his fingers to his mouth in a mocking oops. 

Simon reddens, stung, but Nathan's insults always multiple when a nerve has been hit, an answer in itself. He presses on. 

'Did you...feel that way around him, before the tattoo?'

'When my brother was dying? Or when twenty virgin gang members were about to voodoo hex me after you fucked off and left me?' Nathan inhales the last of the joint, right down to the roach, before stubbing it out on the pavement. The guilt hits Simon, as intended, but he waits, patiently, and Nathan rolls his eyes. 

'No. Just then. You can lead a horse to cock, but obviously you can't tie this’, he gestures down his body, ‘down to monogamy.'

Simon was afraid, before. Powers that can transform Nathan into pledging his love are nothing to disregard; but a power affecting all of them, a man who seems to know everything about them, who's influencing them, making life or death choices... There's one very obvious, very horrible conclusion. 

Nathan's told him all he can handle, for now, but there's someone else who can tell him more.


	2. the turn: Alisha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's more Alisha-centric, last one's finishes on Nathan's POV.

Simon's broken into the office to read his own file before, so it's not a challenge to do it again and find out Alisha's address. 

Ethically, it presents more of an issue - with his current suspicions, the last thing he wants is to do more spying on his friends, but needs must. 

He could follow her home using his power, but he'd rather have a clean conscience; and if asked, confessing to looking through Shaun's stuff is preferable to stalking. 

He knocks on her door nervously - there's no car in the drive, but he doesn't know if her family are around, and it's wracking enough approaching Alisha, the group member least patient with him, normally the first to blank him or tell him to fuck off. 

Alisha answers, after several knocks; her hair tied back in a simple bun, no scarves or bows like normal, wearing an oversized orange hoody. Simon's thought about her, about all of them, away from community service, but he never pictured her like this, casually dressed, make-up free. 

Her eyes are a little red, but she greets him with unusual warmth. 'Simon,' she smiles, reaching towards him. 

Simon recoils instinctively, wary of her power; and Alisha shuts her eyes briefly, sighs. 'Why are you here?' 

'I need to talk to you. About the man in the mask.'

Alisha’s face crumples suddenly. ‘You know about him?’ 

‘He’s me. …Was me. He told you that things would happen. Between us. Didn’t he?’ 

Even in this situation, terrified of what the man has done, what he’s going to do; he can’t help but feel a rush of excitement at the idea, the possibility of them, at even referencing it to Alisha’s face. 

Alisha's composure breaks, eyes flooding. ‘We were in love. He said the future’s different, that you can…touch me. That I turn you into him. A hero.’

Simon takes a breath, crushing down the tiny voice inside saying: ‘Don’t tell her’. 

‘I think there’s more to it than that. I think he’s been lying. Manipulating you. Me. All of us.’

‘Are you mental?’ Alisha chokes. ‘He’s you! What are you saying, you’re gonna end up some psycho? I saw him die for me! He saved us, all of us.’

‘I’m not doubting he…had feelings for you. I’m just worried. I don’t think he was telling you the truth about what happens, about you two. Us.’ 

‘So you hear you’re going to fall in love with me, and your first reaction is to think it's a trick? I know I've been a bitch to you, but I thought you'd be...gr-’ Alisha comes to an awkward stop, her usual poise abandoned.

Simon shuts his eyes briefly, unable to repress a little wince. 

‘Grateful?’ he asks, regretting it immediately.

Alisha’s lip trembles. ‘Why are you saying these things? You’re not supposed to know any of this, he told me you weren’t ready! He probably knew you’d freak out like this. You don’t know everything, just because you read that science fiction bullshit doesn’t mean you have any proof, you’re just scared! It’s all planned out, he said so.’ 

Her lovely face is now marred by tears, and Simon feels a pang of guilt. 

None of this is her fault, and he feels doubly responsible for her misery now,. For how his future self manipulated her into the maximum amount of pain in order to ensure her loneliness and need later; and for the sharper sting of the pain he's inflicting now, leaving her with not even the memory of love, hope. 

The least he can offer is proof. 

There’s a man locally, signs popping up sprayed in stencil, covering the usual ‘WANKER’ graffiti they spend half their lives futilely removing. 

Simon noticed them, like he notices the small details everywhere. The swans at the community centre. The notices in the paper regarding planning permission for an environmental monitoring station. The CVV code on Tony Morecambe’s credit card. 

He’d steered clear, reluctant to involve himself – he and his friends haven’t had the best luck meeting other people with powers. But now he thinks it’s time to pay a visit to CASH 4 POWERS.

*

It comes as a surprise to meet the dealer, Seth, who greets him with: ‘It’s you!’ The phrasing and tone remind him of Nathan under the spell, and he steps back nervously, but Seth remains behind his desk, affable but business-like.

‘Have we met?’ Simon asks, awkwardly. He doesn’t like revealing his ignorance to a man with so much deadly potential at his disposal, but he was never socially adept, and he doesn’t think he can fake any more memories.

‘Sure. You were my first customer. Your mate told you about me, yeah? How’s immunity treating you? Did it work?’

‘Did what work?’ Simon manages. Of all the things he was expecting, finding out his future self has been doing this for over a year was probably the last. 

‘Did you make the girl fall in love with you?’ 

Simon’s stomach plummets, and he mutters an excuse and staggers out. He can't avoid it anymore. It’s time to get the others involved. 

*

Alisha’s glaring at him as he fidgets in the locker room. ‘So where’s this bullshit proof?’

Simon really still only has Seth’s word for it that his future self has purchased immunity. 

Seth’s words and the half-formed suspicions floating in his mind, still afraid to confront them. 

He allows himself to hope briefly that this is all just a misunderstanding, a lifetime of self-hatred combining with fear of his own death causing him to mistake it all. 

Maybe it really is destiny. Or maybe it isn’t. Isn’t it still worth it, to save Alisha’s life, the lives of his friends? 

If he could believe that, he thinks he’d forget the whole thing now; but remembering Seth’s question, casually curious, makes his stomach writhe, like the memory of the night of the fire. The girl on the stairs at the club, how turned on he felt at the time, how sick afterwards, like it was another him. 

Like smashing the lights at the community centre one by one, with the oddest sensation of excitement, even through the gut-punch of Sally’s betrayal. 

‘The masked guy. He was immune. To all our powers. He bought it, from a dealer, so he could make you fall in love with him. So he could touch you. He...didn't tell you, did he?' The question is unnecessary, it's obvious from Alisha's expression. 

She looks like she’s going to be sick. 'He said we end up together. That I fall in love with him. He showed me a video of me, in the future.’ 

Simon shuts his eyes. No wonder he told her not to tell the others. Telling Curtis would have brought them together, instead of forcing another boundary between them. If they’d known immunity from Alisha’s power was possible, maybe Curtis or Alisha herself could have bought it, worked things out.

And telling Kelly, Simon or even Nathan would have meant them realising they only know one guy who’s expert at video editing. One guy who’s mind Kelly can’t read. 

*

‘He told me if I told you lot that it would mess up the future, that I couldn't tell anyone, especially you and Curtis. I thought…’ 

She breaks off, embarrassed, at admitting how lonely she felt, so lonely she hadn’t even realised until she’d met her Simon. 

‘I thought he was the only man who could ever touch me, alright?’

Embarrassed at admitting it now, in front of this Simon, still awkward and strange, and yet looking at her with sympathy. 

At how quickly she engineered rows with Curtis, how quickly she ran to tell him of their split, how little she asked, so flattered at the key, the promises, the generic compliments. 

How he told her they fell in love, but never anything concrete, never any proof that he knew her. 

She always prided herself on seeing through bullshit, on being the one in the driving seat with men, never dumped, never hurt, the first to get up after a one night stand, the first to see that awkward realisation that a second go isn’t on the cards, to fuck and run. 

The first time she allowed herself to trust a guy, to get excited for all the relationship bullshit, holidays and living together, brunch in the morning and lazy sex in the shower. She’s not sure what stings more, the collapse of her stupid daydreams, of a future, all those happy days ahead of them; or the thick shame now coating each of the brief, blissful memories she and her Simon shared. 

*

‘So you’ve been screwing the hooded guy? Is that why you were so off with me?’ 

Curtis sticks his hands in his pockets, turns his body away. He was always the hardest to read, and it’s only Alisha’s swift, defensive reaction that alerts Simon that Curtis is not just angry but hurt.

‘You were the one having dates with that girl in the flat!’

‘It’s not like that, she was there when we took the pills. When I was on the roof, dressed as a superhero.’

‘You didn’t mention her at the time.’ Alisha says quietly, but with venom. ‘I suppose it was nice to have a girlfriend you could touch, though, right?’ 

Curtis looks down, guiltily, but recovers quickly. ‘I didn’t ask her out ‘til you dumped me. Are you saying you didn’t fuck him before we split?’

Now it’s Alisha’s turn to blush, caught. 

‘I thought you’d changed.’ Curtis sneers. ‘Guess I was wrong.’ He bites his lip, looking away. ‘So why the fuck am I here, anyway? We auditioning for Jeremy Kyle?’

Simon stutters, reluctant at first, exposed and awkward amongst the tension between Curtis and Alisha.

‘Y-you need to go forward again. In time.’

*

They’re forced to get Nathan involved, he’s the only one of them who can get any E quickly. Curtis and Simon steer clear of that sort of thing; and Kelly keeps herself to the odd joint since realizing her power’s reversal, it's potential for embarrassment. 

Alisha could score in a couple of seconds in any bar, probably for free, but she’s clearly in no mood to assist on this fact-finding expedition, sitting, arms crossed, eyes averted from the others. 

Nathan brings them the pills with worrying speed. ‘So, we’re gonna find out our futures? I dunno, man, I think it'll spoil it a little. I don't wanna know which Loaded covergirl I end up with, where my mansion's gonna be, takes the mystery out, y'know?’ 

‘There’s no ‘we’. Only Curtis. Besides you can’t take drugs anymore, you’ll be mortal again.’ Simon reminds him patiently. He wouldn’t put it past Nathan to forget. Or take them anyway. 

‘Hey, molly’s out, but there’s a vast pharmaceutical rainbow left to explore!’ 

‘We don’t know what it could do to your powers.’ 

‘You’re so negative, Barry. Maybe it’s something good. I've been experimenting, turns out smoking skunk makes my cock enormous.’ He snaps his fingers like he’s remembered something. ‘Oh wait, it already is.’ 

Curtis grabs the pill. ‘Jesus, let's just fucking do it already, anything to shut this prick up.’ He pops it with a sip of sports drink, and after a few seconds, his pupils blow like a fireworks gone off in his brain. 

It’s creepy, watching him. None of them have been able to see him rewind time, for obvious reasons; and the time they took E they were all so focused on their own powers, none of them noticed each other; but now they all have nothing better to do than wait, watching Curtis, and he looks...empty, like there's no one there. 

‘Sort of weird watching him mong out, innit?’ Nathan offers. 'Hey, I wonder if that's his come face?' He looks speculatively at Alisha, who hits him sharply in the stomach, careful to avoid his skin. But before Nathan can begin whining, Curtis is gasping next to them. 

Curtis' eyes are wide, and before speaking he drinks his entire bottle, like a man dying of thirst. Or a man avoiding talking.

'What happened? What did you see?' Alisha immediately asks, hands clutched together, fists white. 

Curtis pauses for a deep breath, and without speaking, grabs Nathan's cigarette packet from his jumpsuit. Nathan scowls, but his reflexes are sluggish next to Curtis', and besides, Curtis rarely mooches fags, rarely smokes at all, a habit formed from years of athletics training. 

‘We were together. Still, I mean. We all bought new powers, yours was immunity. I could touch you.’ 

Alisha looks baffled. ‘So why did the fuck did Simon guide us to Nikki’s flat? He said that things had to happen. Maybe you two were supposed to be together. He said it was all had to happen at the right time, so he could save me.’

Curtis sighs, presses his lips together. 

‘He didn't save you,' he says, finally. 'You died. You were shot in a bar.’


	3. the prestige: nathan, part i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had a bit of block on this one, the story somehow got longer and took on a different ending than the one I originally had in mind; but I think it's for the best, tbh. Comments are love.

Barry's all Enid Blyton Junior Detective about the masked guy, but Nathan's happy to forget all about him. He's dead, what does it matter who he was? He probably was just a chancer, anyway. 

Sure, he saved Nathan a couple of times, but he's immortal, that's not a big achievement. It's not like he stopped that fire, or even pulled off the whole rescue bit without getting thwacked by burning metal himself. 

Nathan's pretty sure a time-travelling superhero would be able to do more than chuck around snacks and stalk Miss Yo-Yo Knickers. Maybe avert major disasters, save puppies and orphans and crap; not hang around him and the other shitheads. If they're the priority, the world's more fucked than he thought. 

Now the guy’s gone and got himself shot, Nathan's relieved to see the back of him, to be honest. 

Barry's already sniffing around, asking weird questions about that stupid tattoo, never hearing about that again can't come soon enough. 

He's pretty sure he imagined most of it anyway, he was pretty strung out those few days; too much weed and booze, not enough food or sleep, pacing anxiously. 

Sure, it was a nasty little fantasy, but he's had worse, and it's hardly his fault that bald cunt voodoo-hexed him into a crush on Barry of all people. Fucked up was bound to come with the territory. 

Barry’s off, but he’s not a complete schizo as far as Nathan can tell, from his admittedly limited experience. If Barry swears nothing happened, he can probably trust the guy's memory; his own is after all, notoriously shoddy. 

He thinks he's coming close to convincing himself, or at least, working up a healthy layer of denial to paint the whole thing over with; when who turns up in the community centre, larger than life and somehow not bleeding his guts out over the lino. 

‘Hello, Nathan’, offers the man in the mask. 

‘What the fuck are you doing here?!’ 

Nathan'd like to say it in a macho tough guy voice, but he’s pretty much shitting himself. 

The last times people came here after dark uninvited, he ended up slathered over by his mum's creepy were-dog and getting his head smashed in against a loo seat; it doesn’t bode well now to see Barry’s psycho twin – robot from the future? He’s not sure on the details, the others weren’t big with explanations and to be frank, he got distracted half way through, anyway – here now. 

‘You were a lot friendlier last time I was here.’ 

The masked guy pulls the visor off and the mouth-guard down to reveal the same shiny staring blue eyes Barry's got; but his tone of voice, even the way he’s standing, casually stroking the metal bars of the stair strut; is all wrong. 

Barry’s frightened of his own shadow, this guy’s putting Nathan on the back foot in his own place. 

Instead of the awkward, sudden beam of too many teeth Barry bares every so often, at a particularly hilarious joke, an encouraging shoulder pat; this guy’s smirk is cold. 

Nathan should have pegged it before, but god knows he’s not the observant type, and he was so fucking made up at the time, so keen to get on with the fun before Simon got cold feet again, fucked off home for real. 

‘It’s you. It’s…not you.’ He babbles, backing away a little. 

He doesn’t know what the guy wants, apart from apparently a shag from the whole ABSO set, but his fondness for knives, guns and plotting out everyone’s futures like a butch Gypsy Rose doesn’t make Nathan particularly relaxed, even if he’s just here for a second go. 

The guy smiles minutely, Simon’s smug one from when he gets in a rare knock. Sometimes that confidence gives Nathan a little wood, lickle Barry all grown up, taking the piss just like a real boy; but right now he’s still bricking it. 

Why is the guy here at all? He saw his ghost earlier, granted in the mask, but much as he’s warmed to the kid, two Barrys are more than enough, let alone some kind of clone army. 

‘It’s me.’ He moves, Nathan twitching away, but it’s to pull aside the Kevlar at his side. ‘See?’ He shows a shiny red scar. 

Nathan cringes a little, and Simon’s smile spreads across his face. ‘I didn’t think you’d forgotten already. Not when you said such sweet things the first time we met.’ 

His voice is as calm as ever, he was never one to shout, apparently isn’t in any version, but dry humour has crept in, and it’s making Nathan more nervous than if he were shoving his weight around. 

Nerves have never taught Nathan to shut up, though. He wishes they would, his life would certainly go a lot smoother. Instead, bubbling up comes the usual bullshit, designed to divert, injure, anything but to stay in this situation, unsure. 

'Oh wow, good going, mate. So under a frigging power, I told you the same bullshit I tell everyone I'm trying to shag. Woop de fucking doo, you've really had an intimate experience there. Me and Alisha, big challenge. You and what, half the estate?' 

'Do you tell half the estate no one's fucked you dry since you were 12?’ Simon asks, head tilted, like he’s genuinely curious. ‘Do you beg them not to use a condom? “I don’t want anything between us, I swear, I’m clean.”’ 

Nathan looks pale now. Simon raises his eyebrows slightly. 

‘I know. I’m not one to gamble, but I think I’ve risked worse odds being back here.’

He’s sitting now, on the steps, idly stretching. Nathan should have guessed from how built the guy was that he wasn’t the Barry he knows, petrified of needles, knocked out easily. Still stockier than Nathan, sure, but he’s never made a claim at being buff, that’s for boring fuckers like Curtis, guys without his pretty face. 

The muscles would be hot, was hot that time before, but now it’s just worrying him. Barry was always the bright one, not a challenge with their group; but the guy’s on the ball most of the time. Brains and brawn and completely apeshit? Not a great combination. 

'You’re quiet. Makes a nice change.’ 

Nathan pulls a face, it’s not in him not to react, even shocked speechless. 

‘I kind of missed it, though, waiting for you all. Your bullshit. Kelly hitting you. Curtis getting pissed off. Alisha sitting around while the rest of us worked. It got…quiet without all that. I was never good on my own.’

‘No shit,’ Nathan manages, voice cracking. 

‘You know, I tried everyone after a while. Your influence, I guess. What would Nathan Young do with endless time?  
…Sometimes Kelly would. Once, even Curtis. 

But you and Alisha were always the easiest. I always thought I was lonely, before I started. But you two…sometimes I think I wouldn’t even need powers at all, it was so easy. Maybe all beautiful people are that desperate, I don’t know. 

I didn’t need the tattoo, didn’t need to tell her to lie to Curtis, to leave him. You were both so…hungry, for flattery. I’d just…’ He widens his eyes, hunches his shoulder, the shy geek once more. “I think it’s hard, to be beautiful. No one’s ever seen you, have they?" 

He pauses. 'Or maybe I should thank Sally for teaching me.’ 

Nathan's eyes are bugging now, it looks like he's doing a very poor imitation of Simon. 

‘The probation worker', Simon reminds him, dryly. 

'She tricked me, told me she wanted me…liked me. I was so angry, she hit me, and…’ he gestures. ‘Well, the rest is history. I’d like to fix it, but…you were all the priority, I can’t go beyond the storm, the powers, and she would never have stopped. If I knew it was just me, but…Well. Curtis knew, saw me with her. And Kelly, obviously, got the gist.’ 

He makes a gesture against his head, not the nervous tic, but a tapping of the temple, shorthand for Kelly’s power. ‘Maybe that’s what stopped us getting close,' he suggests, a hint of self-deprecating sarcasm detectable. 

‘You really are mental’, Nathan breathes, not in his 'sincere' tone that's almost always fake; but low, to himself. 

‘There were so many times, so many options. I saved you all. You all killed me. I was a hero, a villain. There was one’, Simon huffs a laugh, ‘all our powers were opposite. You had brittle bone disease, you all worshipped me.’

‘How’d you fuck me over there?’ Nathan throws out, irreverently, desperate now to hide the fear that's very nearly panic at this point.

‘Very gently,’ Simon answers, seriously, causing Nathan’s stomach to lurch. ‘It was always you, though. That first day? I wanted her, wanted all of you, but it’s always you who sees me first. Touches me first.’ 

‘Well, that’s beautiful, really.' Nathan tries, weakly. 'I’m so proud to have been a part of your sexual development. Maybe in the next universe, you’ll find the right combination of meds and your shapeshifter girlfriend; you can fuck whoever you want! Half the time and definitely less effort, hey?’

Simon just pulls out his ever-present fucking phone, holding it up, screen facing Nathan, who looks on, sickly fascinated, rambling cut short. Recalling the last time he saw it.

It's him on the video. He looks filthy, hair even curlier than usual with sweat, neck bruised. 

Nathan's grossed out to see himself this way, clingy, fawning over Barry of all people; but worse than the soppy shit he's babbling is the satisfied smile on his face, eyes heavy-lidded. 

He’s checked himself out plenty, during and after, taken selfies with the lucky ladies invited to his bedroom; and while he’s not as creepy as Barry about whipping out his phone at every opportunity, it’s always worth a try to see if the girl fancies performing for an audience of one, becoming all-time fantasy league wank material. So far they’ve managed to resist, but Nathan’s a natural optimist. 

But in this shot, he’s not pulling a come face, showing his cock off, or crashed out after. He looks…happy. Like in the shots his mum keeps in the album, from when he was much younger, beaming gappily. 

Simon's observant monotone echoes from behind the camera: 'Did you enjoy it?'

Simon presses a button. ‘I’ll speed back. Not that far.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘You said it had been a while.’

*

It's that night again, Nathan yelling over the bars of the mezzanine. He collapses back onto his mattress, sighing, when the creak of the doors echoes in the community centre. 

‘Simon?’ he asks hopefully. 

Simon stands in the doorway, spreads his hands down over his clothes, awkwardly. ‘It’s me.’ 

He enters, still clutching a laptop bag protectively against his chest. 

‘Um…’ he pauses momentarily, as if stuck for words. ' …You’re being weird. I think we should go back to that tattoo shop, you’ve been acting strange all night.’ 

*

‘Why the fuck did you say that?’ Nathan asks, watching the screen, unable to look away. 'What if I'd just agreed, gone?'

‘When you’re invisible, you can hide in plain sight,' Simon offers cryptically. 

*

On the screen, Nathan's arguing. 

‘Why? Because I think you’re cute? Jesus, we need to work on your confidence, mate. I get a little fresh, and you’re acting like I’ve had a head injury. No wonder you’re still holding on to that v-card, you’ve probably had tons of birds flashing their knickers at you and you haven’t even noticed.’ He chucks Simon’s chin, all affection. ‘Lucky for you, I’m not the subtle type.’ 

‘You've always hated me.’ 

Nathan looks stricken now, easy teasing gone. ‘Why would you say that? I thought we were friends?'

Simon nods, enthusiastically. ‘Friends! Not… you don’t like me. Not this way.’

‘Sure I do!’ Nathan leans in, hopefully. ‘I always liked you. Let me show you.’ He pulls at Simon’s zip again, this time slower, but Simon stops him with a hand. 

‘Wait.’ 

Nathan pauses, sitting back on his heels, waiting for further instruction. He knows Simon’s kinky, the stuff he says to Alisha is evidence enough. He didn’t want to rush the guy on his first time, is happy to do it however he wants. Simon’s been waiting a while for this, he wants it to be worth that wait. 

‘I want to film it,’ Simon suggests.

‘Totally!’ Nathan rushes to agree. He pulls a pout, posing purposefully, clownish. ‘I’m ready for my close up. Hey, good idea, what a memory. I kinda wish I’d had a camera around for mine. So what are we talking, here? Facial? Blowjob? Or all the way? I’ll make it so good, I swear - ’

Simon cuts him off. ‘I want to do you.’

‘Sure’, Nathan leans over to the battered leather holdall next to his mattress. ‘You want to stick a couple of fingers up there first, or just go to town? I’ve got some…lube, somewhere.’ He’s fiddling about, as Simon leans in behind him. ‘Or I can do it myself, if you wanna watch…’

‘No need.’ Simon says, but his tone isn’t reassuring, as he pushes Nathan forward. 

‘Hey, we’ve got all night’, Nathan tries, twisting round to kiss Simon’s neck; but Simon just presses on. 

‘…You want to...,’ Nathan gasps slightly. 

Simon is now at his neck, but not gently, teeth worrying the skin, leaving marks he can already feel. Nathan’s sure he’s done that a few times to girls when he was fooling around for the first goes. It’s just inexperience, he doesn’t want to bruise the guy’s ego; particularly after he’s been a cunt to him about the whole cherry thing. 

‘...You wanna use something? A condom?’

‘I want it rough.’ Simon says, tone still flat. If Nathan didn’t know better, he’d think this wasn’t Simon's bfirst time, he seems in absolute control, but that’s probably just the pornos talking. God knows Nathan's tried acting out enough of them himself over the years, to many girls' horror. 

‘No problem. I wanna feel you anyway, all of you. I promise, I’m clean, it’s been a while, and…’ but Simon’s already pressing forward, against the mattress, spitting on his hand and rubbing his cock as he prepares to enter. 

Nathan wriggles a little, he doesn’t want to be a pussy, but it’s hard to breathe face-down on dirty sheets, even if you are immortal; let alone if Simon’s really going in dry. 

Simon slaps his arse, warningly. 

It’s fine. Not everyone’s into the narration during. He always talks too much anyway, but he can’t help a wince, then a yelp, as Simon thrusts in, hard, nails scratching down on Nathan’s shoulder blades. 

*

Watching it on the phone, all tinny sound and fuzzy quality, Nathan’s disgusted, not at this Simon, eyes fixed on his reactions, as fascinated as when they found the body in the locker; but at himself. Weakly whining, hisses of pain turning into moans, even as Simon fastidiously wipes away a little blood mid-pump, before finishing inside and pulling out, panting. 

Worse, how he cuddles up afterwards, resting his head on Simon’s chest, fiddling with his earlobes, kissing his neck. 

*

‘That was amazing.’

‘You bled.’ 

‘Sorry. Kinda gross, right? Next time I’ll prep myself before, or you can...’ He gestures crudely with his fingers. 

‘Next time? After that?’

Nathan looks confused, a common state for him. 

‘…Did I do something wrong? Was it not…what you wanted? Look, it was our first time, give me a chance, I’ve got moves, man, I’ll show -’

‘I fucked you dry, and that’s all you have to say? Did you enjoy it? This?’

Nathan looks relieved, of all the inexplicable reactions. 

‘Hey. It’s okay, I’m fine. Don’t think I’ll be walking straight for a few days…’ he exaggerates a wince, hoping to get a smile, a positive reaction out of Simon, even if it is just flattery. 

‘But it’s good. Sexy. I like it, I’ll feel you for days. Even if it did hurt a bit.’ Nathan puts his hand over his forehead, dramatically. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Hurt.’ 

Simon’s still pale, post-coital, and while he was always taciturn, he seems to be breaking down into monosyllables. Nathan only hopes that’s just how he is after an orgasm, that he’s not sitting there stewing. Or worse, disappointed. 

‘Look. I loved every minute of it. Seriously.’ He lifts Simon’s chin up a little, catching his gaze. ‘When I was younger or so…this friend of my mum’s.’ 

He pauses. This is hardly sexy pillow talk. But it feels important to get this across. 

Particularly when it’s Simon’s first time and conspicuously not his. He doesn’t want Simon thinking this is just another meaningless shag. 

‘Well, long story short, he got a little rough. Shit happens! But now, I’ll always have been with you that way. Our first time. Makes it better, a nice memory instead of a crap one.’

Simon gives him a quick kiss on his hairline, the first visible sign of affection he’s shown all evening. 

Nathan will take what he can get, he decides, letting his eyelids fall shut, despite the fluorescent tubing over the community centre entrance and the blinking red light from the phone still propped opposite. 

*

Simon looks at him now, as fascinated as he was then. He’d always thought Nathan’s incapable of embarrassment, immune to shame. As he looks on, he thinks he’s seeing actual brain development, an understanding of consequences, cogs slowly turning almost visibly. 

Nathan’s throat works a little. 

Simon’s seen him in many moods, in many different times. Horny, goofy, annoyed, shocked, but never afraid. Not really. 

He and Alisha were always the most innocent, oddly enough. The first to cry so beautifully, to flee danger. They may be expert at small wounds, but neither of them have ever inflicted a fatal blow, and it shows, in their fear faced with death, blood; and in their fearlessness. Only children can trust so easily, because only children haven’t learned what life is. What people are. 

Nathan manages ‘…Don’t show the others. Don’t show Barry.’ 

Simon smiles a little. ‘I don’t have to. He’s in the corner.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda liked the idea that Alisha and Nathan never did find out about Simon and Sally. 
> 
> Like when Alisha refers to it in S2, she seems to have a romantic view ('you killed her to protect us!') and the only mention we really get is the group finding out in 2.1, and Simon specifically keeps to 'she was dating Tony, she found out', without revealing their relationship. Even in S3, Alisha never seems to realise they'd kissed etc. prior to that episode. 
> 
> Part of this is I think the show desperately trying to reboot the character once they'd decided to keep Iwan Rheon, but I did then wonder if that could add to the whole dark!Superhoodie interpretation.
> 
> Obviously Curtis was aware that there was something there in the scene in the first season where he catches them together; and Kelly iirc is the one to mention Sally in the parade of pseudo-romantic partners doomed by appearing in the community centre (Ruth, Lucy, Jessica) but neither of those two are big sharers, so I thought it could work that Nathan and Alisha are both blindly assuming a much more positive view of the situation (Simon saved us!), rather than how ambigiously it played out in canon.


	4. the prestige: nathan, part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been kicking my arse, and has somehow grown much longer than expected; but the epilogue/end is finally in sight. 
> 
> Spot the references to 'Red Riding' trilogy, since some helpful youtuber uploaded that.

Nathan really doesn't want to know how often Barry's lurking around while they’re all unawares, but presently he's just fucking grateful. 

Alisha's one thing; but Nathan doubts everyone will be falling over themselves believing his own fucked up encounter with the bloke in the mask, even if he did feel like sharing; he doesn't exactly have a spotless record in the truth department. 

Sure, it's a little weird looking at the real Barry, all buttoned up virtue, knowing other hims have apparently fucked his brains out, made him come, begging for it; but he and Kelly got past the finger incident, Barry will get over this. 

It's more full on than a failed snog, awkward for Barry to have seen that, heard it all, to know how easy Nathan bends over, despite taking the piss out of how gay Barry acts sometimes. 

But he doesn’t have his own creepy double, so…swings and roundabouts, he supposes. 

*

'I miss invisibility.' The armoured Simon says, nostalgically. 'You forget I'm immune to other powers, though. Although I think I'd have heard you either way. You were certainly panting over that video loudly enough.'

Simon is painfully red, frozen in the corner. 

‘I’ll have to teach you my filming techniques. I have better shots, you know. It's like wildlife photography. Easier if the subject doesn't know you're there. Of course, it’s good to talk to an equal. No offense’, he mimics Nathan’s breezier tones. ‘But him and Alisha…hardly an intellectual challenge.' 

'Hey!' Nathan interjects, as if this is another bickering argument at community service; as if the man in front of them hasn't been planning which of them lives or dies, hasn't tricked them, isn’t wearing Simon's face like a suit, and Simon feels a sudden rush of affection for him, under the humiliation and fear. 

‘Why are you here?’ he asks. ‘Curtis…he said Alisha died. In a bar. Why didn’t you stop that? Why did you lie to us? Why did you…manipulate me?’

‘Haven’t you worked it out yet? We all died. Will die. I couldn’t stop anything.’

Simon’s stomach lurches, as Nathan interjects suddenly. 

‘Yeah, right. I’m immortal! I’m never going to die. And if the rest of us did, then why didn’t Curtis do his thing?’ 

Nathan loops his fingers, pulls a shocked face in illustration. 

‘Nah, this is bullshit. You’re just a psycho.’

‘We sold our powers. Including Curtis. And you. I made her want me, and it worked a little too well - she tricked me, so we could touch. We sold our powers, sold out. If it wasn’t the bar, it was the factory, or the hotel, or the community centre. Or the roof.’ 

He nods at Nathan. 

‘The only thing I could do was string it out, keep you all safe a little longer. Balance the scales with other people.’

Nathan looks confused, but Simon shuts his eyes, in pained recognition. 

‘…Nikki.’ 

'I tried, over and over, to make it right. She had a heart problem, she would have died anyway. I gave her extra time, and love, she had a power, she went out healthy and hopeful, not sick and alone.'

‘And it got Curtis out of the way, yeah?’ Even Nathan’s capable of that realisation. ‘So you could fuck his girlfriend guilt-free.’ 

‘I loved her more than he ever did. I worked for her, for all of you. I got fit like him. I followed her, what she wanted. She wasn’t that complicated, in the end. But I liked her. I liked all of you. You two treated me like I was nothing. And I was so lonely. You think she’d have rather died, than touch me? Be loved? I gave her everything.’

Simon still can’t move, stricken by his other self, his weak rationalisations, so similar to the ones he’s made in his head over the years. He knew Curtis was the best of the group, ever since overhearing his and Alisha’s fight all those months ago in the bathroom. Liking her, liking Nathan never blinded him to their similarities, the ability all three shared to break the rules first and excuse yourself afterwards. 

Sometimes he thinks he liked them so much because they made him feel better about himself, that worrying about the moral course of action was pointless. That life’s short, but beauty lasts forever, to take what you want while there's time. 

They may not have needed to go to his lengths, they used their faces as a shortcut, but Curtis and god knows how many drunk, innocent girls could tell stories about what little importance they place on consent, what Bruce Wayne or Diana Prince or Steve Rogers would view as ethical. 

‘So you were creaming your jeans for her and now she’s begging you for it. Bet you got off on that bit, just a little, yeah? And all you have to do is tell her you’re the only one who can ever fuck her. Why’d I never think of that one as a chat up line? It’s genius, really.’ 

Nathan’s disgust pangs, though. It was never hard to be more than him, the better man, even at his lowest points (the flickering flames on Matt’s mum’s welcome mat; the girl in the club that night, coat over her face, cameras pointed away.) 

He's thought, guiltily, since finding out; sickened as he is by his older self's actions; that if the positions were reversed, the consequences would probably have been as ripe for corruption - Alisha was always ready to use her power as a threat, Nathan cheerfully amoral. 

The power of precognition weakening defenses that they're both accustomed to ignoring, and neither of them sharing his considered ethics, values; albeit inspired by his dreams of comic book heroism as much as altruism... 

He'd like to think their horror is because they're the ones facing similar treatment to what they've spent a lifetime dishing out. 

But Alisha’s betrayed, tearful face, Nathan' twisted into a sneer... 

Simon would like to think it's the calculation that revolted them both, that neither expected any more from the freak, that they never liked him anyway, but the tone of Nathan's voice reminds him of how he sounded, surrounded by Virtue and suddenly alone; and he wonders if it's him who underestimated them. Fell for their confident masks and casual contempt, and ignored how easily they both fell for his other self's kind words, how quickly they both prostrate themselves for attention, being seen, saved. 

‘I tried being her friend, yours. She…teased me, just like you. She didn’t want me. Maybe not even Curtis. She wanted someone who’d flatter her, who’d fuck her and leave without any demands, any flaws. Someone normal, someone handsome, someone who’d tell her there was more to her than there was.’ 

Hearing Alisha flayed open hurts even more than the justifications for his own actions. 

Not just the damage to another hopeless daydream, another ideal girl to worship and project onto all the dogged devotion others rejected; and not just because he can't deny the truth in his other self’s words, but also to hear himself reading those flaws out as if her guards are invisible, as if he read her mind. 

Alisha and Nathan were always observant, able to wound swiftly and deeply, but he never thought he had that capacity, always prided himself on his loyalty. Far beyond anyone's expectation or even desire, but real none the less. 

‘There’s no happy ending. We’re all doomed. If Alisha misses the bullet; you, or Nikki, or I get it. If she’s safe then, she’s in the centre when that girl comes with a box-cutter. If I stay this’, he gestures at the armour, ‘she’ll always be a target, and if I don’t, she’ll never love me. I tell her to want me, and she tells me to want her. I can’t save her, because I can’t leave her.’ 

For the first time, he wonders if his other self is telling the truth. Not about the events, the deaths and endless pitfalls, the incisive character insights he used to love them and hurt them; but whether it is all inevitable. 

Science fiction always taught him fate is mutable, that choices define character, not destiny. 

But his other self, muscled and armoured, the lover bringing them to easy climax, all awkward shame eradicated, seems weaker somehow, more in love with casuality than life; explanations unconvincing, possibly to himself as much as Simon and Nathan. 

Simon understands, finally. A circle so vicious and choking, maybe it is predestination after all. 

He asks, but he thinks he already knows, there’s only one power that could break him so thoroughly. 

‘What were the powers we bought?’ 

‘You,’ he gestures to Nathan once more, ‘bought magic. You specialised in disappearing’, he says, a bitter twist to his lips. 

‘And I bought precognition.’ 

‘The ability to see the future.’ Simon translates swiftly to Nathan, who’s quieter than he’s ever seen him.

‘Futures, plural. There are so many. So bloody. Sometimes, when I look at her from a certain angle, I can see what she’ll look like old. But mostly it’s what she looks like dead.’ 

The other man reaches out to Simon, and the genuine kindness implicit in the gesture makes him sicker than the earlier cruelty. 

‘There’s always going to be someone after us. That’s what people do. If it’s not someone else, it’s the next you. All you can do is get there first. It’s like when you were younger, and Dad gave you the butterfly jar. They have such short life spans, putting the pin in is just an inevitability. Only the beauty lasts.’

‘There were…others?’

‘We've been doing this a long time. Some just want a turn. Others are more…ethical. It’s always easy to make the next do what we have to, we’re always desperate to be a hero. And she helps, without meaning to. I’ll leave videos out, photos. Alisha doesn’t do privacy. We have that in common.’ He smiles, a loving smile, but the expression is warped, like a ripple in water. 

‘Why do you have to die? Why not just stay here?’ 

‘By that point, you'll be ready to take my place. And I’m…tired.’ For the first time, his other self seems to be experiencing emotion; not relaying it, bragging, powerful or deadened. He looks…broken, how Simon remembers his reflection in the plastic mirror at the unit.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Simon asks, quietly.

‘So you'll know how to teach her to love you. Teach all of them.’ 

‘And now. You…know what’s going to happen? What I have to do?’

‘A hero has to be prepared. To die for what he believes in.’ 

The armoured Simon pulls on the mask, leaves the Kevlar to the side, as Simon steps forward, frightened but set, determined; and shoves the knife in.

The masked man falls to the ground. 

*  
Despite still holding the handle, Simon rushes to help him to the floor, hand on his neck, whether as a gesture of comfort or to check his pulse, Nathan can’t tell. 

Doesn’t care, particularly. 

He thought he’d gotten used to blood and guts in community service, especially since discovering his own power, but there’s a difference between feeling the weapon enter your own body, the wrongness of it, the waves of pain before the final choke; and seeing it from the outside, the metal stink of blood filling the room. 

With Jamie, it was thankfully quick, the smell of petrol rather than images that lingered, but the red, almost orange, puddling on the ugly, sticky linoleum of the community centre… He suppresses a small, weak shudder, and pushes himself away from the wall. 

‘Where are you going?’ Simon asks.

‘To get a mop, and tidy up this fucking mess’, Nathan answers, without turning around.

*  
They’re scrubbing the floor, the body wrapped in bin bags, the thin shitty cheap kind, they’ve probably used about fifty. 

Simon was always conscientious, but Nathan’s breaking a sweat, he’s never made much of an effort during community service. 

He wipes his forehead, getting gunk all over it, but Simon doesn’t bother to tell him. Nathan’s not the hygienic type, as his jumpsuit attests. 

'So you heard everything back there?' Nathan asks finally, breaking the silence, eyes averted, unusually quiet. 

‘I followed the others back home first. But I thought…there was a chance if he was going to turn up, that it would be here.’

'How the fuck did you know he'd come here?' Nathan says, but instead of his usual venom, he just sounds tired, even to his own ears.

'If there's a me that's lived all these times before, there could be other me's, here. The one who died wasn't that,' he nods at the body on the floor. 'So then maybe there are others, who made better choices. Maybe I do. Can. The man who died, he gave you a message.'

'He gave me shit!' Nathan protests, but Simon continues, relentless. 

'He showed you a necklace. It must mean something to him.' 

‘Yeah, that he's apeshit. You heard that crap, he's lost it, man. Spent too much time playing Marty McFly. Fuck him!'

'You and Alisha did, he must have something.' Simon spits, embarrassed, veins rushing with adrenaline still, at his own self-hatred so exposed and raw. 

All he ever wanted from community service was a chance to become normal, to make friends. 

The deaths, the horror, the powers, he wouldn't have asked for any of it, but he can't bring himself to regret meeting them, this time with them, maybe the best of his life. 

Kelly, leaping to his defense. 

Curtis congratulating him, man to man, agreeing to keep his secrets. 

Alisha catching his eye, wishing him a good night, joining in his toast, asking him advice. 

Nathan, agreeing to be his friend. Wrist twisting under his own as he dragged Nathan away from the virtue group, protecting him, as he tried to protect them all. Saving him. 

They all saw him at his worst, his crime, Lucy, the unit. They stayed anyway, despite his expectation that this revelation would be the final straw; but that shame feels weightless compared to this, harming them, breaking their trust. 

Maybe even that could be forgiven. Curtis forgave Alisha, after all. Nathan still agreed to be friends, even after he left him on that roof. 

But having revealed the scars beneath their thin skins? That he knows they won't forget, and it's that knowledge that he wields like a weapon now. 

Nathan flinches, giving Simon a small, nasty joy at having cast a blow, as he leans in to take a final shot, all cards on the table and ready to finish the game. 

'I don't care what he wanted. This is what I want' he says, almost angrily, and kisses Nathan.

*

His head ducked, face flushed an ugly shade of red, awkward and a little proud, a complete fucking geek, it's all so Barry that Nathan can't help but lean in, chase his lips for another kiss. Barry looks so surprised that Nathan almost laughs, but even he's learnt to shut the fuck up when the chance of getting laid hangs in the balance. 

Poor Barry. He knew the guy hasn't always been playing with the full deck, although it's not like the rest of them are examples of positive mental health, to be honest. It's sweet, in a fucked up way. Not many people who've fucked Alisha, Nathan, or the no doubt not tiny proportion who've been with both would see them as worthy of lengthy plots for seduction, convinced of their hidden depths. 

Barry pulls away a little, panting, and looks at his hands. 

'I can't...we need to take him, someone could...'

Nathan leans in, forehead against his neck, laughs softly, tickling Simon’s skin. 

'We're not the world's most competent killers, Barry. Shove him in the freezer tonight, and we'll worry about it tomorrow.'

'This is so fucked up', Simon mutters, the rare expletive illustrating his sincerity. 

'He was. I am. All those things that happen. The people who die. What if it is all planned? He told us, he knew I'd kill him. What if all I've done is exactly what he wanted?' 

Nathan pauses. '…I don't know, man.' 

He's never been good at the emotional shit, although Kelly and her power have softened him a little to having it all out there, heart on his sleeve; and he wasn't ever one for boundaries, was an over-sharer long before he met this fucked up bunch.

'I don't understand this sci-fi bullshit, unless it's Skynet. If it's meant to be, maybe there's nothing we can do. Maybe we should have all died when the storm hit, and death's just picking us off ever since.' 

This seems a little esoteric and Simon finally looks distracted, rather than worried. 

Nathan shrugs. 'Final Destination?'

Nathan's always been good at this, he's been too much his whole life, and while Simon's now on the edge of pissed off, he doesn't look pathetic, afraid anymore, and quid pro quo, Nathan feels more himself. Less helpless, useless in the face of emotion and actual demands he be capable of something other than what's expected.

'I'm just saying. Either we're doomed or we're not. If we're not, great. If we are...well, you don't wanna go a virgin, right?'

Before Simon can smack him like Kelly would, ignore him like Curtis, roll his eyes like Alisha; Nathan leans in again, kisses him, not his usual tongue down the throat, or the first nervous peck under Vince’s power, but slowly, deep and almost sweet.

*

Simon closes his eyes, allows himself to enjoy the warmth spreading through his body. 

He feels like it's the first time in memory that he's felt turned on without the accompanying kick of guilt. 

Shame over wanting boys, of watching Matt's window as he changed. 

Nathan oiling himself on a hot day. 

Curtis pulling down his vest over his sharply defined abs, tattoo rippling on his bicep as he absentmindedly sucks his crucifix, mouth wet and lips working. 

Watching the girls who've become his friends as they stripped, unaware. 

Wanking while thinking about Sally, or Lucy taking Alisha’s form, or Nathan under the power and down on his knees. 

He even allows himself to like the weight of Nathan, straddling his lap; nothing like the subservient, anxious figure on the video; chattering as his mouth moves against Simon's neck, creeping down to his shoulders as long fingers play with his buttons and zip. 

'I don't think I've ever had to work this hard for it, Barry, you're a frigging tease, you know that? Feel like I've been humping your leg since we started this fucking community service.' 

Simon gasps a little, can't help it, seeing his other self, hearing about it is no substitute for a real first time, for knowing it's truly happening, it's not a trick like Sally’s kiss, Alisha’s touch, Nathan’s hand on his leg. 

'I asked you for a drink,' he manages, Nathan's hand fisted in his hair, the other on his jeans. 'You kept calling me gay.'

'Me?' Nathan pulls a mock innocent expression. 'Doesn't sound like me, Barry. You sure?' 

He kisses Simon's neck. '’Course, I failed A-Level Psychology, so I'm no expert, but it's possible I might have been projecting...a teeny bit'. 

With that, he pulls out Simon's cock, massaging it, no real rush, just stroking lazily. 'Or maybe I was on to something?'

'You smell good', Simon blurts.

'That’s cos I nick your deodorant, you arrogant bastard', Nathan murmurs.

'C'mon.' 

He shifts off Simon's lap, and twines his fingers in-between Simon’s own, pulling him up. 

‘It's been a long night. Let's get a shower.'

*

'Welcome to the penthouse', Nathan spreads his arms, with a slightly awkward laugh, gesturing at the grimy bathroom, before starting to pull his shirt over his head. 

Simon puts out a nervous hand. 

'Let me?' 

Nathan's seen Simon’s quick, terrified glances before, darting away before anyone follows his eyeline, but no one's ever looked at him like this. 

Lustful, sure. 

Pissed off, definitely. 

Often both. 

But the intensity of this want, like he's been starving. 

Nathan's never had trouble finding a fuck, but even at his best, mouth zipped shut and clothes stripped down; most girls, most guys aren't down for more than that. He wears on people, and quickly.

He never used to mind, sometimes it's a power trip that he can make them want him anyway, especially after the shit growing up. 

That first day he met Alisha, it was a déjà vu feeling, which may be the reason why he never particularly wanted her, at least any more than the idle thoughts he had about all of them, before Kelly and Simon started to intrude, take the starring roles when he wanked, all big blue eyes and easily bruised. 

But Simon clearly has a type, and Nathan can imagine it felt just as heady to Alisha; the silent, tireless devotion such a stark contrast to the usual game of who leaves first, who comes first, who's most grateful for it. 

The surprisingly clever hands. 

Simon's the virgin here, but Nathan's legitimately worried that instead of teaching, he's going to be finished before they even begin. His t-shirt is chucked in the corner, pants around his ankles, cock heavy and leaking already. 

'Slow down', he murmurs. 'We've got all night.' 

Nathan unbuttons Simon's shirt. He's not as built as the other one, but his hands are gentler. Mushy shit to notice, but it’s been a rough night, so Nathan lets himself off, just breathes. Life’s shitty enough, there’s no shame in enjoying the warm water after the blood; the soft touches after the raw fucks. 

*

Simon stands, slightly awkward, lets Nathan stroke down his side, as if checking for something.

'No scar.' Nathan mutters, almost inaudible, but Simon doesn't miss a word. 

'What was his from?'

'The car.' Nathan offers shortly. 'That night at the club. He saved me. Again, I guess, if he was the bloke on the BMX.'

Simon looks away. 'I'm sorry.' 

At Nathan's raised eyebrow, he rushes to explain, awkward again. 

'About Jamie. I don't know why he didn't...do something.'

'It wasn't down to you.' 

Nathan pulls Simon under the spray, warmer than he'd expected from the cracked tiles and mildewy surfaces. 

'Now shut up and fuck me already, you little pervert.' 

Simon splutters, trousers now soaked, coughing. Not that he'd expected much dignity his first time, and certainly not if he'd have known somehow it would be with Nathan Young, who's pretty much gotten off on embarrassing him since they met. 

Having seen the tape makes it oddly easier, though. 

Whatever happens tonight, whether he miraculously turns out to be the tireless fuck machine Alisha rhapsodized over, or comes in five seconds like his first blow job; he at least knows it won't be a trap, won’t be his tongue in their mouths and his lies in their ears, blood on the sheets, insects on the walls. 

It might be messy, humiliating, painful. 

It might even ruin the fragile friendship they've built these last months, but at least they both want it, eyes open to how shitty the other can be, how exposed his future self left them both. 

Right now he's content just to look, slicking his hair back out of his eyes, kicking off his wet trousers. 

He instinctively goes to cover himself at first, aware of his other self's toned muscles, vast experience, physical bravery. 

How pale and clumsy he feels in comparison, still afraid of needles, still can't drive, let alone parkour, or whatever else they mastered. 

Nathan teases him, though, like always, miming a blowjob with his mouth; delight at his cock; but this time it seems to come from a softer place, a desire to appease. To relax, entertain, communicate even. 

Or maybe it always did, he thinks, remembering how Nathan always spoke to Kelly while they danced around each other.

His betrayed ‘I thought we were friends!' even after spitting out orders and, insults. 

Simon's always felt inept socially, and the others loud, brash confidence did nothing to alter this, but it occurs to him he may not be the only one who struggled to get across meaning.

'Hey. Don't disappear on me,' Nathan mutters, pulling Simon against him, giving him a view of the pale line of his back, his long neck. 

Simon's shorter, but Nathan leans forward against the soap tray, bending to his abandoned jeans pocket. 

'I'm guessing you'll want one of these?' He offers the condom to Simon.

Simon's petrified of breaking the mood now it's happening, petrified of saying something, doing something odd, like he always does, the pause before the laugh and the reveal. 

Matt's ducked head and embarrassed admission; Alisha's honeyed tones talking about him wanking before her angrily spat 'freak!'; Nathan's deadpan: 'Are you asking me out?' 

But he'd rather stay the loser he's often felt than echo the crueller self tonight. 

'I don't want to hurt you.' He says, hopelessly sincere, as he takes the condom, pulls at the packet’s edge, hand shaking a little. 

'This isn't about that.'

Simon squeezes the air out of the teated end precisely, checks the packet in case the latex is water soluble. He half expects Nathan to soften, well aware he's not the wham bam lover on the tape; but instead Nathan laughs a little breathily. 

'You're under my skin, Barry, you weirdo.' 

His eyes drop from Simon's chest, arms, back even, to cock; and he licks his hand like he's getting ready to make a promise; but instead his fingers disappears behind him, fingering himself as he slurs a little, eyes heavy lidded with what can only be desire. 

_(for him, for Simon Bellamy)_

'Now get on with it, already.'

*

'You're beautiful, man.' Nathan offers, hands all over him, tracing his body; as Simon thrusts forwards. ‘Seriously, your cock alone, it’s a piece of art.’ 

'So are you,' Simon pants, smiling at the bizarre compliment; and funnily enough, he means it. 

There's no sting like before, of comparisons, the odd loneliness sometimes provoked by a lovely face, the sense of invisibility.

He doesn't feel the need to explain it away, to ignore it or deny it. 

To decide that it indicates anything about Nathan's character like he did Alisha’s, patronize himself or Nathan like he unwittingly did her; or to own it and hide it like his butterflies or Sally’s frozen face, crystals forming on her lips. 

To blame it like he did Matt's sunshine hair and red lips. 

It just gives him joy, like any detail he notices in this ugly town. The curve of the swan's wings on the river, the flip of the skirts of the team practising Wednesdays, Alisha’s snake belt, or the picture the therapy class did that got hung in the entrance. It just is. 

Nathan’s beautiful, Nathan’s with him right now, touching him, wanting him. He doesn’t want any more than that, the idea of any promises to anyone are terrifying after what his other self shared. It’s enough. 

'So I've been told.' Nathan says, slight flatness in his tone the only indicator of any misstep, but Simon's always had an eye for details.

Maybe he's learnt something from Nathan, though, and instead of trying to fix it, engineer and control the situation, decide what he wants Nathan to feel and try to force it; he just acknowledges the reaction, then releases it, like a balloon from his wrist. 

'Shame about your cock, though', Simon smirks. 

Nathan cackles, and then he's spilling over Simon's hand, suddenly, like the laugh surprised him into the orgasm, and Simon follows him down, knees sagging, and they sit, water beating down, the used condom abandoned in the shower drain; awkward and imperfect and happy.


	5. Epilogue

They’re on Nathan’s bed the morning after, limbs twisted together, backs aching after the shagging last night and the sleep on the shitty flat mattress that barely fits one. 

Nathan’s about to light up a morning spliff, but when he looks to Barry to offer it, he sees Barry’s crouched over, sweat on his forehead. 

Nathan’s first thought is he’s having some kind of delayed reaction to what they did last night, that he’s about to start throwing around holy water and blathering about corruption and the tempting sins of the flesh, like Father Murphy growing up. 

It’s a relief when Barry looks up, voice relatively normal, although his eyes are glassy, like an animal in headlights. 

‘....I had this dream.’ He begins, slowly. ‘You were there. Your hair was all cut off.' 

'Jesus, Barry!', Nathan yawns. 'Alert the media, fuck keeping these powers secret, god forbid you get a vision where you've not got these to hang on to.' He waves a hand over his riotous curls, sticking up even more after sleeping on them wet. 

'I don't want to tempt fate, but I'm pretty sure this,' he mugs, pointing at his face, 'can survive a haircut. Unless you've got a particularly specific fetish, in which case a heads up'd be appreciated, man. No haircuts, no dogs, no Irish?' 

'It's not that, it was...you, but older. You were in your community service suit. In jail.'

Nathan's eyes widen. He releases a long breath through his nostrils, disappointed. 

'This is your big future dream? I end up in the nick? Oh great! And what happens to you? Let me guess.' 

He puts a finger to his head as if receiving messages through the air. 

'You and Miss Thing work it out, and you both end up in Avengers tower. Aw, what else? Kelly and Curtis get it on? Then you all have a brood of little cocoa babies running around, sending uncle Nathan a congratulations card when I end up marrying some nazi prison wife. T'riffic. You know, you wouldn't know this, being a shut-in, but there's a little thing called humping and dumping when you've got your rocks off and your feet are itching. You can save the destiny spiel for Alisha.' 

Nathan leans over, back muscles tensed, stubs out his spliff on a dirty plate, as he pulls on his t-shirt. 

Simon's stung, but he's also patient, and he bites his tongue for a few seconds, allows himself a press of the heel of his hand to his forehead briefly, before continuing. 

'I’m serious. Alisha was there, in my dream. In your cell. ...She was dead.'

Nathan looks away then, chastened, focuses on pulling at the shoelaces on his battered boots, shoved next to his pillow. 

‘What, and you think this is some kind of message? He said we sold our powers. So why would I be seeing her? Jamie…’ He sputters out, without expecting it. Begins again. 

‘...My brother said it was cos I was immortal.' 

'I don't know. Why didn't you see Sally, or Tony? Maybe they have to want to say something. Maybe it's you, annoying people beyond the grave?' 

Simon's pissed off, but neither of them miss the obviously affectionate note in his voice, and they both look away, embarrassed.

'We're not even friends,' Nathan offers lamely. 'Why would she come to me?'

*  
'Look, I'm not your friend or anything', Alisha offers off the bat, fiddling with her hair. 'I…kind of need a favour, though.'

'What the fuck happened to you? Last I heard, you and Barry were all blissful, you were supposed to be coming over for the wedding. Of course, that was before all this’, he waves at the cracked walls. ‘I dunno how enthusiastic Marnie’s gonna be about all that shit after I left her and Junior on their todd and got shoved in here.’ 

'Yeah, well, I'm dead, so... it looks like it didn't work out how we planned, either. God, I’d forgotten what a selfish prick you were.'

'I’d love to help, really. But if Curtis can't do anything, what do you want from me?' He gestures down himself, the orange DOC jumpsuit. 'Kinda limited on options here, they've told me it could be six months with good behaviour, but let's be honest, that was never my strong point.'

'God, you're such a retard,' Alisha sighs under her breath. 'You can do magic. Is there really nothing you can think of appearing to get out of a fucking cell?' 

At Nathan's confused expression, she rolls her eyes. 

'A key? A door? A phone? Jesus! How are you still alive without us? Now move your arse. We've got a funeral to make.'

*

Nathan looks mental on the plane, to be honest. He’s talking to what appears to be an empty seat, in a wrinkled, shiny suit covered in rabbit fur. (Alisha hasn’t asked, doesn’t want to; and quite frankly couldn’t give a shit how loopy Nathan looks as long as they get back in time to stop Simon doing anything stupid.) The hours stretch ahead like a sentence, as Nathan plays with the seatbelt, picks at the ice cubes in his drink, before turning back to her. 

‘So, you've done the survey. How'd Barry end up matching up to Curtis, overall?'

'You're disgusting’, Alisha scowls. She didn’t expect big tears or emotional scenes, and while Nathan doesn’t know it, she wasn’t exactly inconsolable the first time he died; but a little concern, or god forbid, some quiet, wouldn’t hurt. 

'You've no idea! Still, you’re welcome to finish the set, not sure how we'd get around the whole ghost thing, but my brother didn't let that stop him and the icy girl...'

'Can't you just shut up?' Alisha says tiredly. 

'No, really. He told you you were fated, destined, all that airy fairy crap, right? How's this work? I tell him to go back in time and make sure next time your reflexes are a bit swifter?' 

'You can talk', Alisha mutters, swatting him, but lightly, the last thing they need is the flight attendant approaching. 'She killed you first.'

'All that prayer, repressed tension from never getting laid, her reflexes were probably perfect...maybe that's why Curtis was so fast, huh?'

Alisha sighs. 'It wasn't like that, alright? I liked Curtis. He dumped the girl he could touch for me. He was the first guy I ever dated. But it just got...hard.' 

Nathan leers exaggeratedly and she giggles, just a little. 

He could often make her laugh, to her shame, both Curtis and Simon saw her as better than that. 

It felt good, mostly, that faith, that she doesn't have to be a bitch, that she could relax a little amongst these losers, drop the cooler than thou, constantly fuckable act for a while. 

But sometimes it felt like a trap. Trying to make sure she's saying the right thing, not throwing out a nasty comment like Nathan does; not laughing about other guys with Kelly too long; remembering all the relationship crap Chloe and Lucy used to obsess over. 

Not making him jealous with her past, not suggesting stuff when they shag, not phasing out the nice knickers, the sexy costumes on special occasions, the fucking in public and when she's tired and PMTish. 

Sometimes it felt like being Cockmonster again, except instead of another e, another drink, another fuck in the club; it was Mrs. Cockmonster, making another breakfast while she waits for Simon to come back from parkour, another mystery to let play out, him naked and gorgeous and yet strangely impenetrable. 

They were great in bed together, obviously. He'd go down on her for hours, although he never seemed keen on her doing it for him, and she knows her blowjobs are unparalleled. He never asks her for creepy stuff, the fucked up things he'd say under her power. His focus was always 100% on her pleasure. Definitely the best shag she's ever had. 

Just sometimes, she thinks it feels a little like wanking in the stockroom with Curtis, like there's a block between them. 

Not physical, just...something. 

She suggests things, the obvious at first, naughty nurses and handcuffs, and after the Peter thing, toys, a little nervously; and he enthusiastically agrees, the slight goofy excitement putting her at ease, reminding her of the him she first met, the awkward geek she was never intimidated by. 

But he never seems to want her to do stuff to him or for him, it's enough for him to please her, and while she always came, harder than with any other bloke, sometimes it feels like she could be anyone; his girlfriend or the stranger she first fucked, with clocks on his walls. That she's not really there, a shadow of a beautiful girl, like in the comic books he keeps carefully stored in between acid-free backing sheets. 

That she's still waiting for the time when they're both equal, in love, that he likes her and she likes him without being told to. 

That he wouldn’t act so afraid of her, that he’d just tell her to fuck off when she’s in a mood, like Curtis would. That she could swat him away, lash out when she’s annoyed, instead of remembering

_(but you were a bitch before, you’re not that person, you’ve changed, you have, you have)_

It was easier than dating Curtis, though. Not just the touch thing but the map ahead, knowing it's all destined.

Maybe he felt the same with Nikki. 

It's only after the slice of the box cutter, the choking, bubbling in her throat, shaking in Simon's arms, Kelly's sobs, Rudy's panic all fading into the background; that she remembers Curtis clutching Nikki’s hand hopelessly, as she bled out on the floor of that shitty pub, and wonders if this is the cost, the risk to life Simon spoke of when travelling through time. 

She thought he'd meant himself, that his own bullet in the heart was the price of her life, their love. 

But maybe they both paid the price, for the broken promises they both made, to never tell, to throw out the suit; and the one he kept, to never leave. 

Maybe neither of them had the strength to save each other, not at the cost to themselves. 

*

They’re in the woods, when Rudy Two looks over his shoulder. ‘You lost, mate?’

Kelly looks up at that. ‘…What the FOOK?’

‘…Hi’, Nathan offers with a small, awkward wave.

'Why are you here, Nathan?' Simon asks, tiredly. 'I have to go. Alisha's...dead.'

'Yeah, I know. She's, um.. Well, she's standing right next to me.'

Kelly moves forward, hand outstretched, but Simon's been working on his reflexes, and is quicker, hitting Nathan hard on the nose. Curtis puts out a restraining arm, but Simon's already shaking it off. 'Get in the car, I'll meet you back at the centre', he spits, and the Rudys stay quiet for once, following silently. Only Kelly remains, but Simon shakes his head minutely, and she rolls her eyes and follows the others from the clearing.

'I thought I had a death wish.' Nathan offers. 'Pretty elaborate form of self harm, don't you think? Why don't you start smaller, start cutting or drinking vodka for breakfast? You've got time for joint suicide pacts when you're eighty and shitting yourself three times a day.'

'I'm not supposed to reach eighty.' Simon says tiredly. 'I'm supposed to die in the factory, eight months ago, so please, fuck off Nathan, and let me sort out how to do this.' He sits on the ground suddenly, never looking away from the shovel leaning against a nearby tree.

Nathan pokes at the dirt with the toe of one shoe, peers at Alisha as if he can't quite compute that it's really her under there. 

She can't either, just...stares, wondering random thoughts; about whether they buried her in the bloody jumpsuit she always loathed. About how close her grave is to that fucking probation worker they buried out here. About what her parents will think when she doesn't turn up for Sunday lunch. Nathan's thoughts are clearly following the same line.

‘You’re burying her in the fucking forest? ...What were you gonna tell her family, she moved? 'S a step up from the freezer, I guess.'

Simon's fists ball as he stands, but she recognises the look on his face, and it's not the usual fury Nathan loves to provoke. It's one she's seen him wearing only this morning. Guilt. 

'...And what about your family? You got a sister, what's she gonna think, that you two up and emigrated without a postcard?’

‘You should talk.' Simon spits. 'We haven't heard from you in months. Your mum, either. Kelly was in bits, she always said if you weren't immortal, you'd probably die in a week.’ 

Alisha pulls at Nathan's wrists, but he and Simon always got this way when they argued, like no one else was alive. And now, of course, she isn't. 

She can't help but wonder, though, her part in this cycle always precluded her being aware of it. She was content with this before, when he'd saved her; but now she knows how it ends, how it began, that it's her death that prompts it all, she does want to know Simon's end goal. Does he want to break the loop, or continue it? 

Nathan seems to be wondering the same thing once more, albeit in cruder terms. 

‘What happened? The shagging and domestic bit get old? She start picking out rings and talking baby names while you were still playing with your comics? You’re not a super hero. You’re just a regular bloke. Hey, better late than never! So, what’s the new fantasy? Heroic sacrifice? Martyr? How many times have you done this already? I know she and I were never best buddies, but I'm sure I could squeeze out a tear or two next time.’ 

Nathan's words sting Alisha unexpectedly. She honestly never expected that he'd be capable of saying something that would affect her, not because of any willingness on his part to hold back; but just because she's always cared the least about what he thinks. But hearing him voice her own fears feels like she's choking again, rope around her neck and shame thick in her throat.

Simon has always been the best of the group at wounding Nathan, maybe because Nathan never learnt to expect it from him. Alisha's never seen him truly unleash on anyone, though, that was always Nathan and her role.

'Why are you even here?' Simon sneers, the expression undercut by his eyes repeatedly darting to the freshly turned soil. 'Did you fuck up with Marnie and your new power, like you fuck everything else up? Maybe it just pisses you off that you're not the centre of attention. That you left and we were fine. That it was her that actually mattered to me. You take the piss out of me trying to help people, and you were the one always desperate for me to save you.’ 

Nathan looks genuinely hurt, but he doesn't offer any denials. Simon may have turned out to be a better liar than she'd realised, but they're all past sparing feelings at this point, and harsh truth is apparently the weapon they've chosen to batter each other with. 

Nathan speaks slowly, patronisingly, but the clear disgust in his words is what cuts for Alisha, and probably more so for Simon.

'You're not saving her. You're trapping her. She never even liked you, you had to turn back time before she'd let you so much as sniff her knickers. You're like that video game freak, and this is the next quest.' 

‘Maybe I didn't give her enough credit. Or me.’ Simon whispers.

‘You always find a way to make getting your dick wet sound like it's a favour you're doing the world.’ 

Simon bares his teeth now, furious, and Nathan backs away, hands raised in defense.

‘…Look, I'm a twat, alright? I know that.

But...I like you. Getting killed over and over, I know a little about that. It'll fuck with your head, both of you.'

Nathan pauses, fiddling with his ugly cufflinks. It's so typical that he finds it harder to show concern than to rip them to shreds, Alisha thinks, tiredly.

'It was fun at first, knowing I could do anything. But it got old, really fucking fast.

It hurt, and then it stopped, and every time, I gave less of a shit. You all gave less of a shit. 

Everyone grew up, dealt with crap, Curtis and that girl, you and Alisha, and nothing changed for me. I couldn’t stop my brother dying, and I didn’t fix stuff with my mum and dad because I knew I had forever, but no one else did.

Then I met Marn, and....I didn’t want to hold the baby and wonder how many times he’d watch me die before he stopped caring. How he’d get older and older, and I’d just…stay the same.’

‘Then why didn't you ever use it for anything?' Simon asks, sounding exhausted. Alisha feels like she never really got the hero thing 'til now, she thought it was about them; or yeah, a little of what Nathan said, the fantasies of a lonely boyhood and too many comics. Now she wonders if Simon relies on it more than she ever realised.

'Maybe if you’d ever done anything for anyone else, I wouldn’t have had to step up. You could have helped us, all of us, from that guy with the gun, in the factory. In the bar. You killed that girl Rachel, and now look what’s she done. At least I’m doing something for other people.’ 

‘You're not even living! You're just waiting for the next disaster.' Nathan looks mortified, he's probably never said this many sentences without joking in his life. He's actually blushing, something Alisha would have guessed he was physically incapable of. 

'Look, I’m not asking you to...choose anything. Go back. Save her. Save me. Fall in love. Just be fucking honest with her. Don’t buy that power from Seth. You don’t have to touch her to save her life. Tell her the truth. She can buy it herself, or Curtis can, or you can buy it together and shag each’s others brains out. Give her a chance, man.’

Tears are streaming down Alisha’s face. She doesn’t think she’s cried like this in years, doesn’t even know if it counts now she’s dead. 

She’s petrified, for Simon and for herself, unknowing and unprepared, everything or nothing ahead of them. 

She honestly doesn’t know if what Nathan’s saying is true, if she’s capable of loving Simon as he was. If he’s capable of loving her, so much that he can let her go, if necessary. 

If it’s all going to fade away to reveal that nothing changed, that she died in that factory, a bullet in her heart; that he dies in a hotel, a knife in his gut. 

Or worse, if they become strangers to each other, that Curtis loses the last memories he had of Nikki, that she never fell in love with Simon in the first place, that their enduring memories of each other aren’t lovers or even friends, but acquaintances – the freak who sometimes helped protect the group. The pretty girl who could be a bitch, sometimes. 

It was never perfect, although it felt that way in the dreamy first days when they were both new to each other, but it’s what she knows now. 

Even if it was wrong, if they both tricked each other, the future, or the past, the endless possibilities, the different people she could become…it’s as frightening as those first few seconds, feeling her throat tear open, her heartrate slowing.

Simon looks shell-shocked, eyes enormous, jaw bulging, throat working. He moves away, almost in a stagger. ‘I…have to go. I'll see you soon.'

Nathan doesn’t look much better himself, collar twisted and drenched in sweat as he pulls uselessly at it. Perhaps he’s aware of how much is at stake for himself, of the different paths he may end up following. Maybe he even has one in mind. 

Alisha has a suspicion, but trying to control each other, the people around them, is what started her and Simon in this loop. All she can do now is let go, and give them all a chance. 

'Wait!' Nathan pulls the stupid whistle necklace he always has on over his neck. ‘Keep your…creepy lair key on there. When you go.’ 

'You won't remember anything. Once I'm gone, it'll change, all of this. No-one will know anything’s different but me.’

‘Just take it, alright?’ Nathan says, voice low. ‘And uh…don’t forget to get me out of that coffin. I don’t think that graveyard’d have survived if I’d been in there much longer.' His voice rises as he begins riffing, like always. ‘It was an environmental catastrophe after a week, man!’

Simon’s eyes are still full, he swipes at them quickly, squaring his shoulders. ‘Didn’t miss these repulsive comments’, he says, but he’s got a tiny smile on his face, not the adoring, worshipful one he had when they were together; instead the goofy, affectionate one he never aimed at her. 

‘Come on, you dickhead. We need to see Seth.’

*

Nathan lies back against his balled-up jacket, reaching out to pass Simon a flat-looking, half finished bottle of fizzy drink, Simon's voice now hoarse. 

'Not quite the pillow talk I was expecting, Barry, I'll be honest,' he says, after a few minutes. 

'I was up for sci-fi boxsets and your windowlicker comic books; but time travelling clones might be a step too far, this early in the morning. You're the smart one. Clue me in. Is it what's gonna happen? Or what already happened?' 

'I don't know', Simon shrugs. 'He showed you that necklace, the guy who died. That could be where he got it. Or it could have just been his key. An alternate future, proof of the multi-verse? It's like in Terminator, when John Connor sends Kyle Reese back in time so that he can be his father.'

'Just so you know, saying things like that is definitely gonna stop you getting laid again. I mean, seriously, man, I'm going from morning wood to dead below the waist here, you're killing me.' Nathan pulls Simon down against him, the ratty cover over them like a tent.

'I'm serious', Simon murmurs. 'I don't know what it all means. Am I supposed to be him? What if it's you that ends up shot? Or Curtis, or Kelly?'

'...Or Alisha?', Nathan asks, sharply. 'Look, I want the whole gang to survive and prosper and live happily ever after, and all that hippy-dippy bullshit as much as anyone. Just let me know if you're gonna be screwing her less than 72 hours before or after me, you know what I mean? I don't want chlymadia again, the first five times was enough.' 

Simon feels like he's beginning to decipher the others, finally. 

Kelly was always the easiest, a loud bark but with no bite whatsoever, bluster and fists disguising her soft heart. Curtis withholds, but there's no real malice in his words or actions. But Alisha and Nathan, aggressive, unpredictable, and cutting, have turned out to be the simplest, in a way. 

Simon bites his tongue, ignores the urge to engage, to defend himself or Alisha, to play the game Nathan's way. 

It's easier to be brave once he realizes how scared everyone else is, all the time, the beautiful ones and the ugly, the famous and the ignored, the common and the wealthy, the Peters and Brians and Lucys, desperate to be noticed; and the Curtises, Alishas, Kellys and Nathans, desperate to stay visible, to be witnessed, whether it's throwing a punch or winning a race or fucking, being fucked. 

Instead, Simon just leans in, looping Nathan's cheap necklace over Nathan's neck, and around his own. He doesn't let Nathan try his other distraction techniques, let him snake his hand down to Simon's crotch, to escape the awkward, weighty silence or outdo Alisha and the insecurities she provokes for both of them. 

He just lays there, against Nathan, feeling his heart race before slowing as they both relax, it's steady beat the only promise he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wasn't sure whether to include this last chapter at all. 
> 
> I kinda wanted to fiddle around with fixing S3 as best as I could, and I didn't want to totally remove Alisha's POV, but you can tell by the super-lazy 'it was a dream!' structure that it was a real mission to finish. 
> 
> I also went back and forth over whether I thought their approach to her death was too casual (although considering the show itself paid her dirt on that one, what with Kelly and Rudy's cheerful: 'Aw, it's dead romantic!', 'I guess we should be happy!' reactions...), or whether it left things up in the air too much. 
> 
> \+ Totally used extras material from the show when writing this - the brittle bone thing was an episode dropped where their powers reversed under acid instead of ecstasy (Howard Overman said it would have been a confident Simon, a 'quivering mess' Nathan who hero-worshipped him, and Alisha reviled by everyone around her.) 
> 
> The 'wildlife photography' and 'seeing her when she's old, or dead' were from Simon's official flickr account (romantic!) 
> 
> And the Terminator reference is obviously gacked from the show, but there was an earlier cut exchange from 1.2 in which Simon mentions Terminator and Nathan tells him talking about that film is why he's not getting laid.


End file.
